CHAPTERS on Why I (used to) HATE walking...
But may have been converted
Last week, in a London pub, I was passionately telling some friends about how much I hate walking - it’s the least productive use of time, slowest form of exercise and I’m never wearing the right shoes. One of them protested that walking in London is like a type of therapy. He builds time into his day to walk from Highbury to Kings Cross rather than use the tube! Honestly, I haven’t stopped thinking about this statement since - it seems such an alien and time-consuming choice. Plus it would give me immediate blisters, I’d be late for everything and no doubt arrive h-angry.
Fast-forward a few days and I’m feeling pretty hypocritical as I’m nearing the end of a 12km hike through the dense vegetation of Richtis gorge, Crete. A hike, I would argue, is entirely different to city walking. But I have to admit that I’m questioning whether there’s more to this simple act of putting one front in front of the other.
As we started along the trail I was filled with the anticipation of new beginnings, a spring in my step. The aim was to find a waterfall on route to a beach where I’d read of scenic picnic benches and a fresh spring for water refills. Sandwiches and muffins in tow, at first my mind wandered anxiously as I pounded through the changing landscape - would the bread be getting soggy, what time does it goes dark here, have I lost phone signal, how long it would it actually take to get there, do we have enough water?! Worries which started to resolve as I walked onwards and leant in to the scenic journey.
After a few kilometres, I found myself naturally creating an internal rhythm between my heavy breath and the uphill strides raising my heart rate in the sunshine. With vast blue sky lighting the way I felt myself mentally and physically loosening up, being present. Maybe my friend is right, I thought, maybe walking is a kind of therapy.
As is life, almost as soon as I started to enjoy the pace, the path changed and I’d gone off track, coming face-to-face with an unscalable pile of rocks and no way through. I stopped dead in my tracks, looking around for a guiding signal to show the way. In London I would have reached for my phone, stared at the blue dot on google maps, rotated 180 degrees on the spot a few times and someone would have tutted at me for being in their way. Instead I found a foothold in a rock or a vaguely visible boot print in the mud and rose to the challenge - finding the route through felt so rewarding!
As the waterfall came closer, my legs found a new source of energy spurring them down a makeshift staircase with precarious bamboo banisters, supported by iron stakes hammered into rocks. This held up the structure and threatened to spear your lower leg a the same time - I suppose the Greek’s have better things to worry about than health and safety. Finally reaching the lower ground the sound of showering water hitting a pool beneath it was surprisingly loud.
Through towering trees, as promised, I first glimpsed the white frothy water pelting down an eroded stalactite shaped, moss-covered rock. Below it, to my greater surprise was a middle-aged German man wearing tiny shorts and enjoying a Peter Andre moment in front of several family and friends, iPhones in hand. After the long stretch of silent walking among the stillness of trees and gentle meandering stream, this interaction with other humans felt like a jarring return to reality. I consoled myself with the thought of this bloke posting his waterfall moment on instagram, soundtracked by ‘Mysterious Girl’, captioned ‘Man Vs Nature.’ Ironically I now wish I had taken a picture of this scene myself to share with you here, alas it is etched on my memory alone.
A few more kilometres onward over sand hills and through long marram grasses, the grey pebble beach appeared. Mesmerised by the huge crashing waves, an even greater sense of achievement flooded over me. Not least because the sandwiches weren’t soggy and we had made it down a deadly staircase in one piece. But this mode of transport, walking, simply lifting and setting down each foot one at a time, turned out to be a real adventure. Interacting with nature, meeting strangers on a similar path, taking diversions over rocks had all made me feel alive. Alive in the sort of mindful way that I’ve heard people relating to yoga or meditation, but never myself got a real grasp of.
Truth be told, you won’t catch me scaling Everest any time soon and whether I start swapping the tube for walking in London is questionable. However, I will never again say I hate walking. I will hold on to some of this newfound magic when pounding the city pavements of home - maybe I’ll even buy some of the unsexy but oh so comfortable ‘appropriate footwear.’